


Best Kept Secrets

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac wasn't the nameless oppressed, the faceless downtrodden.  He was Courfeyrac.  He'd been Enjolras' best friend since they were in swaddling clothes.  And Enjolras had watched him suffer, alone and helpless to ease that pain, since they were children.  And now... as tired as Courfeyrac was, Enjolras was just as exhausted, and he was at the end of his rope.  He needed help.  Seeing that, Combeferre knew what he had to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Kept Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> **_July 2, 2013:_** ...I have no excuse for this. I do, however, have an explanation. I was in the grips of a particularly intense migraine the other night and trying to get myself through it in whatever way I could. At the time, it seemed like a good idea to give said migraine to someone else.
> 
> ...sorry, Courfeyrac? -.-;;; At least you got cuddles to compensate? -.-;;;
> 
> [tumblr post](http://eirenical.tumblr.com/post/54445487421/best-kept-secrets-7117-words-by-renee-chan).

"Well... _fuck_."

Attention caught by that heartfelt, yet quickly bitten off curse, Combeferre looked up from the report he was editing with a frown. "Something wrong?"

Courfeyrac tossed him a distracted smile, shook his head and said, "Nope. All good. Just remembered something I have to do back at the apartment." Turning to include Enjolras in his next statement, he said, "You two mind if I cut out of here early?"

Enjolras was already packing up his books, quickly, efficiently, before Courfeyrac had even asked the question. "I'm about done. I'll walk you home."

Combeferre blinked. The words had been softly spoken, gentle, almost. He hadn't known Enjolras as long as Courfeyrac had, but even he knew those quiet words were out of character. Courfeyrac, however, didn't blink, simply shrugged and turned his attention back to packing up his own books. Clearly the words Enjolras had spoken meant something different to them than they did to Combeferre, but from the closed off looks the two now wore on their faces, now was not the time to ask. There would be no response forthcoming. So, rather than press the issue, Combeferre simply nodded his agreement and turned back to his own work. The mystery would keep.

* * *

~~**~~**~~

* * *

Les Amis de l'ABC had been Enjolras' brainchild, of course, but Jean Prouvaire liked to think that he had been its midwife into the world. Enjolras had given the group its purpose, but Jehan had given it something just as important -- its name. And with a name, a soul is defined, given parameters. The Friends of the Oppressed was what they were. It was a grand name, a grand goal, a grand purpose. They raised money, they built houses, they rallied, they marched... and they celebrated every small victory as if it were a new birth. Jehan rather enjoyed that part, though Enjolras was always quick to show his disapproval whenever a meeting turned into an impromptu party.

This particular party had started early, stepchild to the victories of equality handed down by the Supreme Court earlier in the week. Enjolras had protested -- as was to be expected -- claiming that more harm had come to this country in this week than even that double blow for equality could recoup and that now was not the time to celebrate but the time to mourn. They'd hung there, caught on the cusp between celebration and dirge, frivolity and call to arms, until Grantaire had raised his bottle into the air and said something about celebrating this funeral in true Viking style... and downed a quarter of it in one long swallow.

When Feuilly had answered that with a roar and a loud clink of his beer stein against Grantaire's bottle, Enjolras had given up the argument as futile. Tonight he would allow them their victory. Tomorrow, hung over and regretting every second of overindulgence, they would buckle down and go after these newest attacks on liberty. They'd wasted no time after that, each quickly reaching for their own poisons and getting rapidly and thoroughly wasted.

Jehan was on his third drink and tripping his way towards pleasantly drunk on a heady combination of alcohol and joy when he noticed Courfeyrac sitting still and quiet in a corner booth, still nursing his first glass of wine. It was unlike him and Jehan never could resist a mystery. Sliding into place across the booth, Jehan asked Courfeyrac, "Why aren't you celebrating with the rest of us?"

Courfeyrac winced a small smile and shrugged. "Not entirely in the celebratory mood, I guess."

Jehan tipped his glass to his lips and finished off what remained in the bottom, watching the pinched look on Courfeyrac's face with discerning curiosity. Finally he said, "Enjolras finally rubbing off on you?"

A shrug was the only answer he received.

"Well, at least I've been a positive influence on someone."

Jehan looked up, startled, as Enjolras seemed to materialize from the crowd of revelers to stand at Courfeyrac's side. He ran a gentle hand through Courfeyrac's hair and said softly, "Since neither of us in the mood for these festivities, shall we go?"

If Jehan expected Courfeyrac to rally against that suggestion, he was to be sorely disappointed. Courfeyrac simply nodded, pushed his half-full glass towards Jehan and stood, following Enjolras meekly out the door and leaving Jehan to wonder at the odd exchange alone. It was a full five minutes before Jehan realized that he had company in his musings. Combeferre and Jehan eyed each other for a moment before returning to their thoughts... and their suspicions.

* * *

~~**~~**~~

* * *

Marius was grateful to Courfeyrac, more so than he could properly say and for more reasons than he could reasonably count. When Marius had thrown off his grandfather's oppressive hold he'd been destitute, not willing to take even a penny from his grandfather after what the old man had done. Courfeyrac had taken him in, no questions asked, and given him a home... given him back a family, albeit an unconventional one. And because Marius was so grateful, he'd learned to keep his mouth buttoned over any protests he might otherwise have made about some of Courfeyrac's... proclivities. But, really... this was beyond the pale. How could he be expected to keep his mouth shut about _this_?

Marius had intended to leave his room only to get a glass of water from the kitchen. It had been a long night of studying and he had midterms beginning the next day -- they all did. He hadn't intended to... he really hadn't... it was probably completely innocent.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Marius from his perch against Courfeyrac's bedroom door... the doorway he'd just emerged from. His clothes were mussed, as though they'd been slept in or thrown on the floor, his hair disheveled. He looked exhausted. Finally Marius got out a stammered question. "Have... have you been here all night?"

Pushing himself away from the door, Enjolras muttered, "No, I just thought I'd drop in at four in the morning." He shook his head as he passed Marius, "For goodness' sake, Marius, of course, I've been here all night. We were studying. It got late. We fell asleep."

Marius couldn't help it, wanted to kick himself the second the words left his mouth, but after two years of being Courfeyrac's roommate, he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd wanted to. "Studying? Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Fortunately for them both, Enjolras didn't deign to dignify that question with an answer, chose instead to grab his coat and leave. Later that day, mind distracted from his midterms by the odd encounter, Marius would be hard pressed to decide which of them had blushed harder -- Marius... or Enjolras.

* * *

~~**~~**~~

* * *

Combeferre noticed that sometimes Enjolras and Courfeyrac disappeared together from study sessions.

Jehan noticed that sometimes Enjolras and Courfeyrac disappeared together from parties.

Marius noticed that sometimes Enjolras and Courfeyrac came home together... and Enjolras didn't leave until the next morning.

Grantaire noticed that sometimes Enjolras had a gentle way about him with Courfeyrac... a gentle way that he exhibited towards no one else, no matter how much someone else might wish he would.

As a pattern of behavior, it was an obvious one, but none of Les Amis really wanted to call any attention to it. It was the best kept secret in the group but it might as well have been the worst, for it preyed on everyone's minds. Surely Enjolras and Courfeyrac had to know how obvious they were. Surely they had to know that their friends would accept them. Surely they had to know that there would be no judgment, no damnation, from their group. Out of respect, however, no one breathed even a word of their suspicions and the two were left in peace.

But no peace lasts forever and in the end, of course, it was Grantaire who broke this one. He'd been drinking steadily and watching Enjolras all night, as was his wont. He'd been watching Courfeyrac, too, recognizing the beginning of the pattern leading up to a dual disappearance in Courfeyrac's narrowed eyes, his swiftly hidden frown, the way he pushed away his beer and began shifting around in his seat. Sure enough, moments after those things began, Enjolras found an excuse to wander by, to gently stroke the back of Courfeyrac's neck, thumb running possessively down its side. And Grantaire just knew, he just _knew_ that the next move would be Enjolras suggesting they leave. And suddenly, he couldn't stand watching it happen. He couldn't stand the open secret. He couldn't stand watching as something he wanted so desperately was gifted so generously to someone who wasn't grateful enough for it to stand up and declare it in the open.

He just... couldn't.

Grantaire rose to his feet and said, more clearly and distinctly than the amount of alcohol he'd consumed should have allowed, "Let me guess, oh fearless leader. Need an excuse to get the two of you out of here early? How about the 'I need to help him with something around the apartment' excuse? You haven't used that one in a while. Why not just tell us what you're really up to? Going to have your own private party? You can tell us, you know. We'll still love you. We'll support you. You don't have to hide from us. Or do you value your status as an 'ally' so much that you'll not risk tainting it with being the thing you profess to ally to?"

Enjolras stiffened within the first six words and his hands were made fists by the twentieth. By the thirtieth, there was high color in his cheeks and his teeth were clenched tight. By the last words, all of that had faded and his eyes were full of a quiet, terrible rage.

...and it all evaporated with three words from Courfeyrac, spoken in a voice so small and plaintive that it raised eyebrows all the way around the group. "Home. Now. Please?"

Grantaire edged closer, peered closely down into Courfeyrac's now pale face and said, "What the fuck is wrong with _you_?"

At that explosion of words, Courfeyrac winced and dropped his head into his hands, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Enjolras sighed and shook his head for a moment before threading his fingers through Courfeyrac's hair to reach his temples and start up a gentle massage. A moment later, Courfeyrac shook him off, shook his head, then winced, again. Enjolras bent closer, a frown etched harshly onto his face. "Do you have your medicine?"

A grumbled response that sounded vaguely like, "Took it already."

Enjolras sighed. "It didn't help?"

An even more garbled response that bore only a passing resemblance to the words: "Never does."

"All right." The group had drawn closer by then, confused more than they could express when it became clear that the famed "open secret" wasn't the secret they'd thought it was at all. Enjolras turned to face them, met each of their gazes in turn, saving Grantaire's for last. "I haven't told you anything because there is nothing to tell. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get him home while he can still walk." He then brushed past them to collect his and Courfeyrac's coats.

There was dead silence for a moment, two moments, three... and then they all started talking at once. It continued, unabated, for several minutes, until Combeferre noticed that Courfeyrac had buried his face in his arms and was softly whimpering into them. Combeferre obligingly shushed the others and then shook his head when those voices dropped into almost equally loud whispers.

Eventually it was Joly's voice which broke through the others. "Oh my G-d! What if he has a brain tumor? Or meningitis! Meningitis is contagious! He could have given it to all of us! Did anyone share his drink tonight?"

At the increasingly shrill tone, Courfeyrac wound his arms up over his head like they might protect him from the noise. Before Combeferre even had a chance to ask it of him, Bossuet ushered Joly away from the group to calm him down. Combeferre edged onto the bench next to Courfeyrac and regarded him for a moment out of sad eyes. Eventually, he said, "Is there anything I can do?"

Courfeyrac shifted his arms just enough to turn a misery-laden eye on Combeferre, then quickly hid behind them, again. So, it was Enjolras who eventually answered the question with a brisk, "Yes. He's far enough gone at this point that I'll need help to wrestle him up the stairs to his apartment. If you'd be willing to assist, that would be a great help, indeed. If not, you can at least get him into his coat." With those words, Enjolras dropped said coat -- along with Combeferre's -- across his arms. In spite of the absolutely pathetic picture Courfeyrac now made, Combeferre couldn't help but smile at that presumption on Enjolras' part.

It was the work of several minutes to get a very reluctant Courfeyrac to release his head from its protective hold long enough to get him into his coat, but once Combeferre had gotten him into it, he immediately drew the hood up over his head and lowered it back to the table. As Combeferre stood to slip into his own coat, he noted Enjolras off to the side, one hand lightly gripping Grantaire's arm just above the elbow, a look of earnest apology scrawled all over his face. The sight made him smile. Unbeknownst to Grantaire, his feelings for Enjolras had been the group's second-largest "open secret" and it was nice to know they'd at least been right about one of those secrets... and that there was apparently a more than even chance that Grantaire's feelings were reciprocated.

When they finished their talk, Enjolras parted from Grantaire with a tentative smile and moved back over to help Combeferre get Courfeyrac up from the table -- the poor man was all but a dead weight between them and fighting to pull his arms out of their grip to protect his head. In the end, Enjolras leaned in and whispered something in Courfeyrac's ear, to which Courfeyrac responded by closing his eyes and giving them back his arms. Navigating out the door with a willfully blind Courfeyrac wasn't the easiest task, but between them, they managed it. Once outside, however, it got more difficult, with Courfeyrac constantly tripping on things whose presence neither thought to warn him of. After two blocks of this, Courfeyrac opened his eyes, shook off both their hands and, squinting, struck off on his own.

Combeferre leaned over towards Enjolras and said quickly, "My apartment is closer by far and I live on the ground floor."

Enjolras eyed him for a moment but eventually nodded once, decisively, before racing after Courfeyrac to explain the change of plans. Understandably, Courfeyrac immediately protested, arms wind-milling wildly as he expressed his irritation. The argument came to an abrupt end when Enjolras caught both of Courfeyrac's hands and, with a beseeching look, said softly, but vehemently, "I know you're embarrassed. I know you're in pain. We just want to _help_." Pulling Courfeyrac's tense frame into a gentle embrace, he finished off that short speech with, "Please, let us help you -- if not for your sake, then for ours."

After a moment, Courfeyrac squirmed out of Enjolras' hold, turned to look at Combeferre, made a face, then abruptly turned up the street that would lead to Combeferre's apartment. Combeferre hurried to catch up, but pulled up short when Enjolras reached out to prevent him doing so. At Combeferre's raised eyebrow, Enjolras finally offered the explanation he'd been holding back since leaving the bar. "He gets migraines -- has since we were young. His parents dragged him to just about every kind of doctor in existence to try to get to the bottom of it and when that failed, tried him on every migraine drug known to man. Nothing helped."

Combeferre frowned. He refused to believe that nothing in modern medicine existed that could get to the bottom of such a problem. He was about to say so, but at the rueful look in Enjolras' eyes, the words died unbidden on his tongue.

With a bitter laugh, Enjolras said, "If you're thinking it now, I guarantee you I've thought it at least twice before and so has he. During our freshman year, he did some exhaustive research on the subject, discovered that there were foods that could cause migraines. He called up one of the premier specialists and worked out an exclusion diet to try to ferret out what his own triggers were." He sighed, "He kept it up for months -- longer than I'd seen him stick to anything up until then -- and only gave up when he figured out that even if he gave up nearly all the cheeses he loved, alcohol, chocolate, coffee, hot dogs and most cold cuts, that stress alone was still enough to touch one off." Enjolras shrugged as he finally started walking. "I can't say I blame him for choosing to live with the migraines. A life where giving up everything you love still doesn't give you surcease from pain... that's not living. It's barely even existing."

There was nothing else to say after that. They kept a decent distance from Courfeyrac as they walked -- his entire body language just screamed "Keep away from me!" -- and didn't catch him up until they'd reached Combeferre's door. Combeferre let them both in, then winced as Courfeyrac immediately pushed past him to reach the bathroom in the hall. A moment later, came the sounds of Courfeyrac being quietly but thoroughly sick. When he reemerged from the bathroom, he was paler than before, still squinting and was now pressing a hand to the side of his head.

He hadn't even gotten out of his coat.

Softly, almost too much so to be heard, Courfeyrac said, "For the record... migraines _suck_."

Enjolras took that as his cue to step forward and help Courfeyrac out of his coat. A short, softly murmured conversation saw Enjolras leading Courfeyrac slowly down the hall to Combeferre's bedroom, helping him strip down to his boxers and undershirt and climb under Combeferre's covers. After confirming with Combeferre that his curtains were blackout curtains, Enjolras went about systematically drawing them closed and tucking them as firmly against the windows as he could. Once that was done, he stripped out of his own clothes and returned to Courfeyrac's side. In the dim light reaching down the hall from the living room, Combeferre could just make out Enjolras tucking the covers around him and lifting a hand to stroke softly through now sweat-soaked dark curls.

Courfeyrac let out a quiet whimper which Enjolras hushed by edging close enough that Courfeyrac could turn to press his face against Enjolras' hip and curl the rest of his body as tightly against Enjolras as he could manage. They stayed in that tableau -- Courfeyrac curled around Enjolras with Combeferre watching uselessly from the doorway -- until Enjolras happened to look up. And the look in his eyes... Combeferre had never seen Enjolras' eyes carry such a look. He'd seen them fired with anger. He'd seen them blazing with righteous passion. He'd seen them grow cold with disgust. He'd seen them fill with pity... but he'd never seen this. He'd never seen them brimming to overflowing with shared pain, with empathy... and that was what this was.

Courfeyrac wasn't the nameless oppressed, the faceless downtrodden. He was Courfeyrac. He'd been Enjolras' best friend since they were in swaddling clothes. And Enjolras had watched him suffer, alone and helpless to ease that pain, since they were children. And now... as tired as Courfeyrac was, Enjolras was just as exhausted, and he was at the end of his rope. He needed help. Seeing that, Combeferre knew what he had to do.

Moving quietly about the room, Combeferre checked all the curtains and unplugged the alarm clock. Once that was accomplished, he retrieved a filter bottle from the kitchen and filled it with cool water -- dehydration made any headache worse and the bottle would be easier to manage than a glass and less likely to spill. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the hall closet, then turned off all the lights in the apartment save the nightlight in the bathroom. He pulled the bathroom door shut so that only the smallest amount of light reached the hallway from beneath the door. That done he returned to the bedroom and taped down the curtains so that no light at all could penetrate to illuminate the room. Disposing of the roll of tape, he pulled the door shut and finally approached the bed, one hand held out and gently questing after the other two people he knew were there, but could no longer see.

A hand reached out to grasp Combeferre's in the dark. He was sure it was Enjolras' until it squeezed his and Courfeyrac's roughened voice said quietly, "Thank you."

Combeferre gently squeezed back as he slid onto the bed opposite the side on which Enjolras still perched. "You're welcome." Combeferre hesitated, then, loathe to disturb what was clearly a well-oiled system, nor to disrupt it with his presence, but still... He was here. Enjolras had asked for his help. So, he was going to help however he could. Combeferre pulled Courfeyrac's hand closer and closed it around the water bottle he carried. "Can I convince you to take a drink? It may help."

The dry chuckle he received in response was devoid of any real humor, was filled instead with exhaustion, but nonetheless, the bed shifted beneath him as Courfeyrac sat up to do as suggested, leaning heavily on Enjolras as he did. When he was finished drinking, Combeferre helped to ease him back down. And though he knew that Enjolras couldn't see him in the darkness, Combeferre couldn't help but shoot him a look that said, "Now, what?"

Either Enjolras' eyes were far better than his or he simply understood all too well what Combeferre must be thinking... for he answered that question. "Now, we hope he falls asleep... and does it quickly."

He didn't.

An hour later, Courfeyrac was still tossing and turning, alternately pushing them away, slinging himself half across one of their laps to press his head against them and sitting up to cradle his head in his hands and rock violently back and forth, whimpering and trying not to cry from the pain.

An hour after that, Combeferre was forced to reevaluate what he'd thought of Enjolras since they'd first met -- that the man was incapable of compassion and empathy on as small a scale as a single person. For that, quite obviously, was not the case. In fact, if anything, it now seemed that Enjolras was far _too_ capable of such empathy and compassion... he simply used it all up on Courfeyrac. Combeferre almost couldn't see how he had the energy to maintain it, either. After a mere three hours, Combeferre was ready to leap from the bed and rage at anything that might alleviate the helplessness he was feeling, the frustration and anger at his own inability to do anything that would give his friend ease. No wonder Enjolras was so quick to take his ire out on the rest of an unjust world.

After one particular violent fit of rocking and whimpering ended with Courfeyrac off the bed and pacing the corner of Combeferre's room, he finally had an idea. With Enjolras' help, they convinced Courfeyrac to return to the bed and to get back under the covers. Combeferre offered him another drink. Once he'd taken it, Combeferre helped him out of his undershirt and turned him to rest against Enjolras, head tucked into the crook of Enjolras' neck, arms looped loosely around his shoulders.

Once Courfeyrac was settled as Combeferre wanted him, he tipped the water bottle over just enough to wet his own fingers. Reaching up, he then started gently massaging the cool moisture into the tense muscles of Courfeyrac's neck and shoulders. Initially, Courfeyrac tensed further still, but after several minutes of that cool, gentle massage, he finally started to relax. Combeferre gently worked down over the muscles of his back, then up again to his shoulders, his neck, the base of his skull. It wasn't until he threaded his fingers up through Courfeyrac's hair to massage his head, though, that he finally heard the noise he'd been waiting for -- Enjolras letting out a soft 'oof' as Courfeyrac grew suddenly heavier in his arms... with sleep. Combeferre continued his thorough massage for another few minutes, working out whatever kinks he could. Once satisfied that Courfeyrac was well and truly asleep, he helped Enjolras ease him back down to the bed and tucked him back in, again.

They both tensed as Courfeyrac turned over in his sleep, and made a few restless, abortive movements before settling, again. In silent accord, they waited another ten minutes before making any moves of their own. It was Enjolras who made the first. Reaching over Courfeyrac's sleeping form, by luck or by instinct, he found Combeferre's shoulder, gave it a small squeeze and said, "Thank you. Just... thank you."

Combeferre patted Enjolras' hand. "It was nothing."

Enjolras' snort was quiet, but made just as much a point as though it had been far louder. "It was not nothing. Trust me, Combeferre... it was not nothing." Another minute passed before he added, "He should sleep for a while, now. Usually..."

Combeferre swore he could hear the blood rushing to Enjolras' face with the words he didn't say and took pity on him by completing the sentence for him. "...you stay with him?"

The slight shift of the mattress beneath them as Enjolras' nodded was the only hint that Combeferre had of a response. Taking that in stride, he said, "All right. Then we'll stay with him." Combeferre paused for a moment, uncertainty creeping in, at last, as he asked, "Will he be better when he wakes?"

Enjolras' snort this time was louder and full of bitter amusement. "Well, that depends entirely." He sighed. "If he was telling the truth when he said he took his pills before, then he should be his usual cheery self by sometime tomorrow. If he wasn't... he could well be like this for the next three to five days."

Combeferre couldn't help it. His jaw dropped. Perhaps sensing that Combeferre needed a moment to process that information, Enjolras blessedly kept his peace. Eventually he got out, "Three to five... _days_? Is that... Enjolras, is that _normal_?"

"Is that normal? How the hell should I know? It's normal for _him_ and that's all I know. When he doesn't get his pills into himself in time, these damned things hold on like lampreys. And since he only rarely gets auras beforehand, most of the time the first warning he has that one's on the way is when the pain hits and by then it's too late to take anything and have it be effective. So, unless by some miracle he was telling the truth earlier, you may well be stuck with him for a while."

When Combeferre had no response for that, Enjolras let out a weary chuckle and eased himself down beside Courfeyrac under the covers. "If you want my advice, get your rest now, while you still can. It's possible you may be in for a long few days." Another soft chuckle. "And when you complain about it later, just remember... I tried to protect you from this."

Combeferre finally laid down on Courfeyrac's other side and curled himself protectively around him. He let out a soft sigh. "So you did, my friend... so you did."

* * *

~~**~~**~~

* * *

When Courfeyrac woke, it was to cool, thrice-blessed darkness. He ached from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Even his _hair_ ached. And his head... fuck. He hadn't missed the feeling of someone driving a pick axe through the side of his skull in the months since his last migraine and he sure as hell didn't welcome it, now.

His entire body drew in, trying in vain to curl protectively around the pain in his head, and succeeding only in undoing all of Combeferre's good work from the night before. Even the pressure of the pillow pushing his head up from beneath him was too much for the tense muscles of his neck to take, and he whimpered, tried to push it away. It was only when he failed that he realized there were two other heads resting on that pillow with him.

All but sobbing in frustration at the cage his friends had created around him with their good intentions, Courfeyrac pushed and kicked at them in an attempt to gain a little space. Only, the more frantic he grew, the more tense he became... and the more he hurt. And the more he hurt, the more frantic he became... and the cycle looped over again. Finally, tears of pure frustration leaking from his eyes, he managed to elbow whoever was behind him in the ribs, touching off a harsh spate of coughing right in his ear. And that was that. He couldn't take anymore and, heedless of the pain that it would cause him to do so, yelled out, "Would you both get the fuck off this pillow so I can fucking well get it out from under me, already??"

Enjolras and Combeferre sprang away from him as if he'd prodded them with electric shocks and Courfeyrac took the opportunity to throw the offending pillow across the room. Heart racing, now, and still unable to get comfortable even with the pillow gone, Courfeyrac threw off the covers, too, moved to sit on the side of the bed. Stomach churning with nausea, he braced his head in his hands and let out a low moan. Enjolras was immediately at his side, hovering, hands reaching out to touch but not daring to do so. Courfeyrac let out a whimper that threatened to turn into hysterics as he began to rock slowly back and forth, trying to escape a pain from which there was no escape.

The gentle creak of the door betrayed Combeferre's exit from the room and Courfeyrac winced. Damn it. There were reasons, _good_ reasons, he hadn't involved any friend who wasn't Enjolras in this. In the grips of a migraine he would lash out indiscriminately, uncaring who he might hurt in his efforts to escape his own pain. Enjolras had known him too long to take it personally, but Combeferre... Combeferre probably hated him by now, probably never wanted to see him, again. Any minute now, he'd come back and throw their asses out onto the sidewalk. Any minute...

Combeferre did come back, but it wasn't to throw them out. It was to press two pills into one of Courfeyrac's hands and the bottle of water into the other. Courfeyrac gritted out, "I already took them."

"Medication takes multiple doses to reach a steady state in the body. Until that steady state is reached, some medications aren't even at therapeutic levels." When Courfeyrac simply stared dumbly at him in the dark, unable to even begin processing what he's just said, Combeferre sighed and said distinctly, "Take them, again.."

Hurting and tired, Courfeyrac debated the merits of arguing the point and eventually decided against it. Combeferre was the only man he knew who could out-stubborn Enjolras and Courfeyrac was definitely not up for a battle of wits with the man, right now. It wasn't going to do any good, but he took the damned pills. Once he'd done so -- and taken several drinks of water besides, also on Combeferre's orders -- Combeferre slid an arm around him and dragged him off the bed. Enjolras made an abortive move to stop him but, in the end, simply wedged himself under Courfeyrac's other arm and helped them down the hallway.

When they reached the bathroom and Combeferre pushed open the door, the light from that nightlight hit Courfeyrac like a ton of bricks. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, becoming a dead weight in his effort to not get any closer to the source of light. Enjolras cursed as he shifted to support him, and Combeferre simply said, "I'm sorry, but we'll need the light. I don't want you drowning because we couldn't see well enough to determine that you were about to go under."

It took Courfeyrac far too long to understand that statement and when he did, he balked, stammered out objections, protests, the closest thing to logical arguments he could muster -- in short, he gibbered complete nonsense and whimpered.

Combeferre sighed as he sat Courfeyrac down on the closed toilet. "Courfeyrac, listen. You're overheated, you're sticky with sweat and you're so tense I'm afraid you're going to hurt yourself every time you move. None of that can be helping your head. I'm not fool enough to suggest you take a shower, because I honestly don't think you can stand upright long enough to manage it, even with help, but I thought soaking in a warm bath might do you some good." He stopped, knelt down in front of Courfeyrac to catch his gaze, eyes full of nothing more or less than an earnest desire to help. "Will you try? Because I ask it?"

Hearing the pleading sincerity in Combeferre's voice and the soft gasp that Enjolras couldn't quite stifle at Combeferre's audacity, Courfeyrac finally capitulated. What harm could it do? He was going to hurt if he was in bed. He was going to hurt if he was in the bath. He was going to hurt no matter where he was and at least by doing this, he might ease _someone's_ mind, tonight.

Courfeyrac carefully shimmied out of his boxers, even managed to quirk a leering eyebrow when Enjolras mirrored that action and stripped out of his tee-shirt, as well. Combeferre huffed out a short laugh and muttered that it was good to see that some things never changed, even in extremity. Enjolras climbed into the tub first and held his arms up to help Courfeyrac get in, as well. Once they had Courfeyrac settled in Enjolras' arms, Combeferre disappeared, again.

Courfeyrac murmured a question as he let himself relax against Enjolras and Enjolras laughed, the sound moving his chest beneath Courfeyrac's ear. "I don’t know, but if I were to guess, I'd say he was going to change the sheets." In response to Courfeyrac's blush, Enjolras hooked his chin over Courfeyrac's aching head and said, "And, no, not for anything like that. You just... you really did overheat. I don't know if it was having third person under the blankets or if it was the stress or _what_ , but you ran up a fever for a while. By the time you woke up, we were all soaked with sweat."

They were silent for a while after that, Courfeyrac sinking into the lukewarm water as far as Enjolras would allow. He was surprised at how relaxing the muted movement of the water around him was, how comforting the gentle waves Enjolras created with his occasional shifts to reposition them to be as comfortable as possible in a tub that hadn't been built for two.

Enjolras eventually picked up the sponge Combeferre had left and started gently running it over the back of Courfeyrac's neck, over his chest, even more gently across his head and face. It was soothing and felt so good that Courfeyrac almost started crying from the brief respite from the pain in his head. Feeling him start to shake, Enjolras left off his ministrations for a moment to wrap his arms around him and hold him close. It wasn't until Enjolras spoke that Courfeyrac realized that he wasn't the only one on the cusp of weeping.

"You... Courfeyrac, it was bad this time. Worse than any you've had since high school." Enjolras took in a deep breath and Courfeyrac could feel it as it shuddered out beneath him. "You scared me."

And that was the crux of the problem. Enjolras had been with him through so many of these that Courfeyrac had lost count. He'd reached the point where he feared he now took it for granted -- took Enjolras for granted. And that wasn't fair. Enjolras wasn't his nursemaid, wasn't his mother -- hell, wasn't even his boyfriend. "I... I'm sorry." His breath caught on the words.

Enjolras shushed him before he could say anything else. "No. Courfeyrac that's not... I didn't mean... I’m just glad we weren't alone this time. It was good to have Combeferre here."

Courfeyrac looked up just in time to see the man in question return from the other room. He offered up as much of a smile as he could, even as he tucked himself further into Enjolras' arms, said quietly, "Yeah. It was."

By the time the water had cooled, Courfeyrac was starting to actually feel a bit better. They got him dried off and into a clean pair of Combeferre's boxers. The bath had succeeded in bringing his temperature down, as well -- enough so that he was now a bit chilled -- so Combeferre dug out a soft tee-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms for him, too. Then they all climbed back into bed. Once there, however, it was just as difficult for Courfeyrac to get comfortable as it had been when he first awoke. The pillow still put too much pressure on his neck, but he was just as uncomfortable with his neck unsupported. Combeferre finally turned him on his side and slid his arm beneath Courfeyrac's neck to support it.

It worked like a charm.

Exhausted, but hurting less than when he'd first awoken, Courfeyrac finally drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

~~**~~**~~

* * *

When Courfeyrac woke, again, the next morning, there was now only a dull throb where the pickaxe had been planted the night before. It ran down his face, into his neck and shoulders and settled in the muscles of his back... but the important thing was that that damned pick axe was gone and it was hunger churning his belly, not nausea. Pushing himself warily upright, Courfeyrac grabbed at his head, irrationally preparing to catch it should it once again feel it was about to roll off his shoulders.

It didn't.

Sighing with relief, Courfeyrac eased himself from the bed -- now empty save for himself -- and padded down the hall. Enjolras was on one side of the couch, hunched over a cup of coffee with such deep bags under his eyes that it appeared he'd been on the losing end of a fist fight. Combeferre was at the other end of the couch, idly thumbing through the morning paper. It was so adorably domestic, Courfeyrac had to smile... and plunk himself down in the middle of it.

Though the bags remained untouched, the grumpiness in Enjolras' eyes lightened at that. Freeing up one hand from his coffee mug, Enjolras ran his fingers gingerly into Courfeyrac's hair to scratch at his scalp. "You're feeling better."

The soft upward lilt on the last word barely made it half a question -- it was clear enough that Courfeyrac was feeling better -- but Courfeyrac answered it, anyway. He understood all too well Enjolras' need for the confirmation. He smiled, took Enjolras' hand in his to place a soft kiss in the palm. "Yeah. Much better. All aces."

Combeferre rustled his paper hard on Courfeyrac's other side and the resultant wince he made at the noise immediately revealed him for a liar. When Enjolras choked on the laugh he'd hurriedly buried in his coffee, Courfeyrac offered up a sheepish grin and said, "OK, OK. Maybe not all aces, but at least two pair -- sevens and Jacks."

Reaching out to rub lightly at Courfeyrac's back, Combeferre said, "Well, either way, it's a definite improvement." He leaned over, directing his next words to Enjolras, "I suppose he really did take his pills yesterday."

Courfeyrac frowned. "What? I told you I did!"

Enjolras shrugged, unrepentant. "You don't always tell the truth about that."

"Well, this time, I did!" was his indignant reply.

Enjolras smirked, relaxing into the back and forth of the mild argument. "Clearly, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. You'd still be insensate in Combeferre's bed."

Courfeyrac blinked, slow and deliberate, and only then turned to take in the room around him. At the look of utter confusion on his face, Enjolras let out a delighted laugh. "Good grief, you _forgot_ , didn't you?"

Folding his arms firmly over his chest and fighting a rising blush, Courfeyrac huffed out, "I did _not_. I just... temporarily misplaced the knowledge."

Clearly relieved to see Courfeyrac so closely approaching his usual self, Combeferre couldn't resist getting in on the action and raised an eyebrow. "Does that happen to you often? Temporarily misplacing the knowledge of whose bed in which you fell asleep?"

Courfeyrac gaped at Combeferre for a moment, eyes wide, a tiny smile quirking the corner of his parted lips. Eventually his mouth closed and that tiny smile grew... and grew teeth. He leaned over to drape his head against Combeferre's shoulder and whispered his next words into Combeferre's ear, "It's a proven fact that the more often I'm invited and the more memorable I find the bed, the less likely I am to forget whose it is."

Combeferre smiled right back and lifted his other eyebrow to join the first before lowering them both and raising them, again, "Is that so?"

They held that stare for another minute before Courfeyrac broke away, laughing. "I can't. Jesus Christ on a crutch, I just can't." At Enjolras' soft query, Courfeyrac waved a hand in Combeferre's direction and said, "He waggled his eyebrows at me, Enjolras. _Combeferre_. That... clearly I'm not the only one suffering the aftereffects of last night." He turned back to Combeferre and pushed lightly at his shoulder before standing and making his way to the bathroom, tossing back over his shoulder, "Try again when you can be serious!"

He was already down the hall by the time Combeferre responded and thus missed his soft, "...but I _was_."

He also missed it when Enjolras reached out a hand to lightly grip Combeferre's and answer back, "For what it's worth... _I_ know you were serious." At Combeferre's raised eyebrow, Enjolras offered him a soft smile, "Of course, I do. How you feel about Courfeyrac is the third best kept secret of the group. And didn't you know?" He smiled. "We're all terrible at keeping secrets."

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> For anyone who doesn't get them and is curious... yes, migraines really do suck that badly. Also, because I just realized I didn't explain it -- a migraine aura is a peculiar overlay that creeps across your vision about 10-15 minutes before the actual migraine hits. Imagine a line streaking across your eye that makes it seem as though you are looking through a crystalline kaleidoscope. Sometimes this occurs in an arc around the outside of your eye, sometimes it streaks across the center of both of your eyes. It's very pretty and doesn't hurt... except that it's a warning of what's coming. If you manage to take preventive medication for a migraine when you see the aura, it will head off the worst of it, but in my experience, if you miss that window, well... taking anything later doesn't really help to recoup that missed opportunity. :-P And, yes, migraines really can last three to five days if you miss that window. And here's the real kicker -- you don't always get an aura beforehand.
> 
> In short... migraines suck. If you have any other questions, I'll be happy to answer them as best I can. ^_^


End file.
